


Noteworthy

by DLanaDHZ



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Police Officer Derek, Police Officer Stiles Stilinski, sticky notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 06:30:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1459405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DLanaDHZ/pseuds/DLanaDHZ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek share a desk at the station but work different shifts. Stiles is messy and Derek is very neat, which seems to work out fine... until the day the first passive aggressive sticky note is left on the desk telling Stiles to clean up. One note turns into two turns into two hundred as both officers become increasingly interested in their desk partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Noteworthy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [howlforhoechlin](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=howlforhoechlin), [lasvegas_lights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasvegas_lights/gifts).



> For howlforhoechlin.tumblr.com (lasvegas_lights), who requested the fic on tumblr with the post:
> 
> I want a Sterek fic where Derek and Stiles are both cops who share a desk but work different shifts so never see each other. Derek likes it tidy and Stiles always makes a mess so one passive aggressive post-it note turns into a conversation between the two via notes left on the desk.

Working for his dad had always been something Stiles wanted to do. Solving murders and helping people had also been high on his list, so being an officer made complete sense in his life.... even if it was an almost full time job at the same time he was trying to get his double major degree in psychology and criminal justice. He worked mornings and took night classes when he couldn't get online classes. He didn't patrol as much as other officers and he didn't have his own cruiser.

 

If he had accepted his own cruiser, he never would have been able to attend night classes, since being in the cruiser meant he was on duty. So he drove his jeep to and from work, partnering up with others to go on patrols or head out to incidents. It was slightly dysfunctional, but it was Beacon Hills, so not much happened anyway. And for a while, Stiles and the job seemed to be working out just fine.

 

Until the day the sticky note showed up.

 

Stiles didn't have his own desk at the station. Since he worked from 7:30-5, some other officer got the desk in the evening from 5:30-2. Until the x-large sticky note, Stiles had assumed the desk was tidied every night by some kind of cleaning crew, but he was obviously wrong. Officer Hale was organizing the desk each night, and he had apparently had it with Stiles' messy ways.

 

'Please keep the desk clean so I don't spend my first half hour of work fixing it. You're limiting my productivity.'

 

Unimpressed, and definitely not one to take unimportant orders, Stiles crumpled that note up and tossed it in the trash. He almost wrote back, but decided it wasn't worth the concentration required... at least until two days later when the second note appeared.

 

'Continue and I will report you,' the note read.

 

Being reported to his father was a laughable threat, but Officer Hale obviously didn't know Officer Stiles was actually Officer Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski's son. Originally Stiles had gone by his last name, but documents meant only for his father's eyes kept showing up on his desk, so they quickly changed his paperwork to show him as Stiles, his preferred first name.

 

Still, even though the threat was a joke and held as much water as a bucket with a hole in it, Stiles found himself taking offense to the passive aggressive threat. Of course that meant he would reply in the only way a true adult could.

 

He wrote a passive aggressive note back.

 

'Genius is messy,' he wrote with a smiley face. 'Report me if you can't handle it or learn the system & prove you're a genius too.'

 

When he left for the day, he stuck the note on a plastic cup in the center of the desk and arranged all the pens from inside it around it to form a crazy stick figure with a giant axe. The next morning, everything was rearranged into neatness once more, and Stiles would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed by the lack of a response.

 

He didn't get called in by his father. Not that day or the next or even the next after he left a coffee ring on the desk on purpose besides his normal mess. He didn't even drink coffee. He borrowed Greenburg's mug while the other wasn't looking. But no. No report. No notes.

 

'Spoil sport,' he wrote and left dead center of the computer monitor. When he came in the next morning, the 'sport' bit had been scribbled through, and Stiles almost laughed out loud.

 

'Admitting your spoiled?' he asked.

 

Waiting for responses was tough, since he had to sit through an entire shift of compiling reports for his dad and waiting for a call that required his presence and then he had to go to class for three hours and then finish his homework and then sleep – like seriously sleep takes so much time – only to wake up with that little jolt of anticipation for a response he had no guarantee would be waiting.

 

'No.'

 

The shortness of the response he did end up getting, and the fact that it took up almost an entire note sheet, made Stiles snort before rolling his eyes. 'You're not really the best conversation partner.'

 

Nothing like Scott, at least, whose conversation could keep Stiles going for hours. Deciding he needed more of said life-sustaining conversation, and since he had no class that night, Stiles snuck into his friend's room after work... which was a terrible idea since Scott's girlfriend, Allison, was over and they were both shirtless when Stiles tumbled through the window.

 

Super awkward.

 

And Stiles didn't even get to have his awesome Scott conversation time. He did get a rain check for it, though, which he guessed made up for that... kinda... a little bit.

 

'I'm working. You should be too.'

 

Officer Hale's responses weren't getting any longer, but the game of passing notes pretty much made up for that. Stiles hadn't had so much fun since he and Scott used to hand slips of paper back and forth during Harris' class in high school. Now Scott spent all his time with Allison or working at the animal clinic... or both. Uncool – especially since Stiles didn't really have anyone else to hang out with. He barely had free time to waste on others, but it would have been nice to waste it on someone else at all.

 

'Notes take 2 min. Tops. Nothing wrong with a friendly chat.'

 

Stiles pressed it gently into the desk top and nodded. "Energizing, invigorating, completely not desperate, friendly chat," he murmured, feeling like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else. Then it was filing reports for his dad and hanging at the station for what his dad called an "on call" shift – waiting to help handle unruly felons others brought in or answer emergency calls if needed.

 

'We're not chatting.'

 

"And yet you keep responding," Stiles said out loud the next day as he pulled the pad of large sticky notes over to make his response.

 

'So you admit we're friends?'

 

Patrol that day was with Greenburg. They pulled three people over... for a tail light, a head light, and one guy whose music was too loud. Paperwork for each, and Stiles wanted to slam his head through the desk in boredom because of it. Perhaps the only thing keeping him from doing so was the thought of poor Officer Hale being left to clean up the debris of the destroyed desk and the blood left from Stiles' dead body.

 

See? Stiles was considering Hale's sanity. Friends.

 

'We don't know each other.'

 

'Nonsense. We're both officers. We share a desk. We barely get along. Hale and Stiles. Like a comedy show.'

 

'Also not a comedy.'

 

'I think it's funny.'

 

'Do you enjoy distracting me?'

 

That note brought Stiles up short. Well yeah, he did enjoy distracting Officer Hale. Sure, the guy probably had less time to spend at the desk because he had a cruiser and that suggested more paperwork, but he'd never asked Stiles to stop talking before. Stop being messy, yes, but never to stop leaving notes. Was this not as enjoyable on the other end of the conversation?

 

'Do you want me to stop?'

 

One day passed with no response, which may have meant Officer Hale was too busy, but then another day came and went, and Stiles knew what that meant. Officer Hale did not want the notes to stop... poor jerk was just too proud to admit it.

 

'This desk belongs to a superhero!'

 

He wrote it and stuck it on the side of the computer monitor. Two hours later, after a coffee run was required because the office machine died, he drew a bad cartoon superhero on a second note and attached it to the other side of the monitor and smiled at his handiwork. If Hale wanted him to stop, he decided, he'd stop. But until then, Stiles would have fun with it.

 

The next morning, two sticky notes had joined the first two. One read 'Captain Clean!' and the other was a surprisingly good rendition of Mr. Clean.

 

'And his arch nemesis - Captain Clutter!' Stiles added to the worded side. The new drawing was of their shared desk as Stiles usually left it. That afternoon, he put his files away in the hanging folders in the desk drawer without thinking about it and didn't realize what he'd done until halfway through his class on Death and Dying.

 

Waking up for work was never fun after an evening of school, but Stiles was too curious about the continuation of the superhero note saga to think of being tired. But when he got to work, the notes were the same as the day before – no new additions.

 

Deflated, Stiles sank into his chair, rumpling his uniform and not caring. He'd gotten too excited, thought maybe he and Hale could be fun note buddies, but maybe Hale hadn't noticed the files put away, maybe he still thought the desk too messy, maybe he was angry so he stopped responding.

 

Sad and feeling whiny, Stiles yanked open the desk file cabinet petulantly only to find one cupcake in a plastic container with a note, a novella considering it was written by Officer Hale, stuck to it.

 

'Noticed you put away the files for once. Not a total slob. Have a prize.'

 

And Stiles really, really wanted to be mad about the degrading tone in the note, but the idea of sugar was more appealing, so he just ate his prize and forgave sour face for all his grumpiness.

 

'Heart of gold under a pelt of spikes. Not a total sour puss. Have a prize,' Stiles wrote and actually tried to clean up that afternoon.

 

'Being a sarcastic little brat. -10 points from Hufflepuff,' Hale replied. Harry Potter reference. Stiles was impressed.

 

'Achievement unlocked: Recognized a Sass Master. Don't worry, you'll get used to it,' Stiles answered and even drew the xbox symbol. On a second note he drew an angry badger and added 'p.s. Hufflepuffs are badass.'

 

One driver barely under the limit for blood alcohol content, an old woman needing directions, and a minor car accident with no deaths or major injuries later, Stiles was glad he'd written the note first instead of waiting until the end of his shift, because car crashes with angry people always made him too tired to be witty.

 

Even though Scott and him had an XBox date that night, Stiles could only keep his mind and body invested in that for about two hours before he had to say goodnight to his brothers-in-arms online and turn everything off. The only thing dragging him through the shower and morning process when he woke up was the thought of a new note on his desk.

 

'Who said I wanted to get used to it?' Hale asked. 'Unless getting used to it means you keep putting the pens back in the cup like today.'

 

Stiles frowned at the note and then frowned at the pens in their cup as though they had arranged themselves neatly to give him a good reputation. '10 points to Slytherin for pretending to not be fond of me already. Just for that, no clean up today.'

 

'There is something wrong with you.'

 

'Yup. That's what my dad says.'

 

Notes were tricky. Stiles kept assuming Officer Hale was enjoying the banter like he was, a strange game amidst a boring routine, but every once in a while he stopped to wonder if he was misinterpreting the words. For instance, did he actually think there was something wrong with Stiles? Did he find Stiles annoying rather than playful and interesting? Did he not consider them friends? Because Stiles, perhaps strangely, did.

 

And not just because his best friend's schedule didn't match well with his, making him lonely and searching for a connection he didn't find with anyone he worked with during his own shift.

 

'Is your dad crazy too? The world must tremble with 2 of you walking around.'

 

'The world would be so lucky. No, my dad is very average – in the best way. You like him too,' Stiles wrote. He'd checked with his father. Officer Hale really did seem to like the sheriff. Apparently the two talked often, but never about anything important and definitely never about Stiles. Maybe Hale reporting him _would_ be problematic if his dad liked Hale.

 

Instead of questioning Stiles' assumption that Hale liked Stiles' father, Hale switched topics the following day. 'What kind of last name is Stiles?'

 

'Not a last name. It's my first name.'

 

First name... Stiles smirked. At the end of his shift, when he was meant to be doing paperwork, he snuck into his dad's office as though waiting for him to return and shuffled through the filing cabinet until he found the personnel file marked 'Hale'. He didn't need to read much. All he wanted was a name and a photo to match the surprisingly good penmenship. Derek Hale – male, good, and he was really attractive too. Stiles had assumed male, but then he'd felt guilty for being sexist, but he was right. About Derek, not about being sexist. Oh God.

 

'Okay. What kind of first name is Stiles? & why do you go by your first name? How did you get away with that?'

 

'More of a nickname. Just go with it. First name is hard for a lot of people. Last name was same as another officer's. The sheriff himself approved it.'

 

That night after class, his dad commented that someone had asked him about Stiles, had seemed really surprised to find out who Stiles was. Strange, the sheriff thought aloud, since he thought everyone had noticed when Stiles got a job there and when started going by Stiles instead of Stilinski. Having this information, Stiles was in no way surprised when he came in to work and found a note half hidden under the monitor.

 

'You're the sheriff's son!?' it accused in large letters.

 

'I'm an officer of the Beacon Hills police force. Attended & completed police academy as soon as I met the age req. I'm a double major in Psych and Crim Justice at UBH - set to graduate in a yr. I have hardcore adhd & take Ritalin every day. I freakin love cupcakes, and I'm a slob.' Stiles managed to squeeze it into four sloppily written sticky notes, which he placed one on top of the other like a flip  book. On a fifth note he wrote, 'and yes I'm the sheriff's son.'

 

He went through an entire shift with those five notes stuck together under the monitor, glancing at them periodically. He'd been enjoying the sort of banter they had going, even if it was slow because of their chosen method of communicating. Would learning who Stiles was related to make Derek stop? He had to know Stiles and the Sheriff wouldn't use anything said on sticky notes to get Derek in trouble... in fact, Stiles was probably more vulnerable than Derek in this situation.

 

'So,' he wrote, taking up an entire sticky note at the end of his shift. On another he added 'Your turn. First name Derek, right?'

 

He added the notes to the stack and left his little book for Derek on the desk in the shadow of the computer screen, hoping he came in the next morning to a stack of his own.

 

He hadn't slept so uneasily since finals his first year at UBH. And not before that except on the anniversary of his mother's death each year. Stiles checked the calendar. That day was not today, and yet he slept like his plush mattress was suddenly a crap spring thing.

 

When he put on his uniform the next morning, he took a minute to wonder what Derek would think if he saw Stiles. Would he instantly know he was the Sheriff's son, looking like he was just playing pretend in the uniform, or would Derek just assume he was a cop like the rest of the force? He'd never felt so unsure about his job before.

 

Unfortunately, the unease only grew worse when he entered the bull pen and found his stack of notes gone but with no reply to replace them. He did his best not to be hurt by the lack of response, even volunteered to go on patrol when it wasn't required of him to prove he wasn't losing job performance to disappointment. When he got back, he wrote up a report and then pulled out the sticky notes.

 

'Rude,' he wrote and stuck it on the computer screen.

 

It only took five minutes for him to rip it off and toss it in the trash instead.

 

'Are we not speaking anymore?' he opted for instead.

 

The next day without a response he left 'All because I'm the sheriff's son? Real mature, Derek.'

Then 'Fine, sourpuss. I didn't want to talk to a Slytherin anyway. Snakes and Badgers don't get along.'

 

Stiles didn't understand why Derek was being such a jerk about this. Stiles couldn't exactly change the fact that he was the sheriff's kid. He was born that way. Was Derek born a jerk? Was he really that worried about Stiles getting him in trouble or something? It wasn't like Stiles had power over people's jobs just because of his family. But obviously Derek didn't believe that because he wasn't bantering with Stiles via sticky notes anymore, which was really a shame because Stiles hadn't had so much fun with someone other than Scott in awhile.

 

He made tiny paper balls in class that night and built snowmen and pyramids with them because he couldn't focus on lecture when his mind was being petulant and trying to stay angry with a guy he'd never even met.

 

Several days passed in total normalcy, which Stiles supposed most people would be happy about, but Stiles wasn't most people. He was back to writing notes by the end of the week even with no promise of responses.

 

'Do you have any pets?'

 

The idea came to him after he and Greenburg arrested a woman for animal abuse and had to take her three dogs to the rescue clinic. Scott and his boss, Deaton, showed up to start working with the animals before Stiles and Greenburg left, which gave Scott and Stiles a few minutes to chat.

 

Despite the situation, they talked about Allison and her family. Scott was going over for dinner and he was freaking out about what to wear and say. It only took a few half-teasing remarks from Stiles and some good solid advice about color matching to calm his friend down, and then they did a secret handshake and went their separate ways.

 

'I've always kinda wanted a dog, but it's a lot of effort, you know?'

 

He'd never get a dog if he couldn't properly care for it. Or any animal, really. Derek was probably a dog person too. Or, to fight stereotypes, he was a cat kind of guy. No. Bunnies. Derek totally was a small furry creature kind of guy – bunnies or hamsters or something.

 

Stiles might die from the hilarity and adorableness of that image.

 

'When I was eight I snuck a squirrel into the house. Dad wasn't too happy but mom couldn't stop laughing.'

 

The lack of response was disheartening, but Stiles never went a day without finding something to write about regardless. While positioned to watch for speeders, Stiles got into a long debate with his partner of the day over the radio station, because Officer Farrell liked classic rock and Stiles kept turning the station to Top 40s kinds of music. It was a long shift, but they did eventually just end up laughing at each other while belting out lyrics to prove their songs were better.

 

'I love the song "Secrets" by OneRepublic. I know. So mainstream. I'm not in the cool club anymore.'

 

In class that night, Stiles brought up the song with a classmate. He was on the Indie music team and actually got mad when Stiles suggested a lot of top 40 songs were actually good. Afterwards, sitting by that guy for five hours was not the best way Stiles could think to spend the night.

 

'Why does the media suggest only indie music makes people cool? Mainstream is mainstream for a reason – because ppl like it.'

 

Some days waiting for a response and not getting one was tough. Like days where Stiles was part of a team investigating a possible drug charge. They had a warrant to search a guy's apartment, and inside they found enough cocaine to kill a small herd of bison. Honestly, Stiles was shocked – cocaine of this quantity in Beacon Hills?

 

Listening to that guy holler as he was put in handcuffs and taken away was hard. He was cursing but he was also crying. Stiles wanted not to care, the guy was doing and dealing drugs after all, but that wasn't the kind of person Stiles was.

 

'I arrested someone today.'

 

Really though, how did anyone make money dealing drugs in Beacon Hills? Was there a high drug use problem Stiles wasn't aware of? Cause the next day, Stiles help arrest one of the guy's dealer buddies.

 

'Arrested his partner today. You know, I think they were childhood friends.'

 

Arresting people always made Stiles think for way too long – he'd debate why they did it for days. It was no different this time... except he also wondered if Derek did the same thing.

 

'If my best friend Scott got into crime, & my dad wasn’t the sheriff, I'd probably go into crime with him. Okay, so I'd be the one to drag him into crime. What diff does it make?'

 

'Maybe I'm a bad influence. Maybe it's good you aren't talking to me.'

 

'Decided I'm a joy. You're missing out.'

 

Stiles didn't count, or maybe he did, but he'd guess a month passed that way, with this one sided conversation going, and he was starting to feel pathetic about it. His birthday, he decided, was the cutoff point. If Derek didn't respond by his birthday in a week, Stiles would stop writing notes.

 

Which of course meant he dropped hints about his birthday in among his notes about work and class. And after a month of silence, he almost had a heart attack when he walked in one morning to find a note with an arrow pointing at the drawer.

 

In the drawer was another cupcake, just like Derek had done before, only this one had a tiny plastic sign that said 'Happy Birthday' on it. There was no note, just the cupcake, but it made Stiles smile like he'd won the lottery, and that was the day some of the other officers started a pool about what was going on between the two officers at the corner desk.

 

Stiles was still messy and Derek was still a neat freak but Derek was responding again. He wasn't big on pets, and he liked The Fray more than OneRepublic, and drew squirrels having a gunfight around the edges of his notes one day, and all-in-all Stiles deemed their friendship renewed.

 

After that, Stiles took to lingering in civilian clothes as long as he could without being late for class to see if he could glimpse Derek coming into work. Not that he hadn't already seen Derek's photograph when he'd snuck through his dad's files before to learn Derek's first name. Stiles just wanted to see him in person.

 

Stiles would almost consider himself sneaky and brilliant after the third day rendered the desired result... except that on his way to leave without being noticed he backed up into a metal shelf and sent boxes clattering to the ground and then kept apologizing to the officers, including Derek, who came to help him pick things up. The only bright side was that Derek didn't seem to know who Stiles was. Little blessings.

 

Having seen Derek up close and personal in uniform gave Stiles ample fodder for teasing Derek about his looks and how many hearts he'd broken and left Derek demanding Stiles stop looking into people's personnel files. Which of course only made Stiles want to steal another glance at Derek's file and figure out which broken hearts he thought Stiles knew about.

 

And it was nice as well as annoying, having this weird note relationship with Derek Hale. It was certainly not something Stiles had ever imagined happening to him while working as a police officer, and he knew Derek had never expected it because he complained about them both being irresponsible and ridiculous for continuing to do it.

 

They talked about friends – Stiles had Scott from childhood and by association Allison, and from high school he had Lydia and Danny and no not Jackson; Derek had school friends too – Boyd and Erica and Isaac. They mentioned family – Stiles' dad was known but his mother had passed away and mostly he remembered she smiled a lot and he wouldn't be adverse to his dad and Scott's mom getting married, and Derek's mom ran the wildlife preserve outside town and also had a job of managing her slightly maniacal younger brother Peter, but Derek's father had passed on and his mother wasn't looking for anyone new.

 

Their mutual job was brought up a lot –why they chose to be police officers and did they like doing it? Stiles wanted to solve murders. Derek wanted to stop abusers and in-home crime. Yes they both liked their jobs, even if sometimes they were boring, sometimes they were exhausting, and often times they had to worry about being in danger.

 

Everything was going great, regardless of how ridiculous it was... until Derek stopped responding again.

 

They'd been happily conversing for three months, so three days of silence was unusual. Stiles didn't understand why, didn't think to ask anyone about the silence, until day three. He assumed he'd said something to annoy Derek, as usual, and kept trying to tease a response out of him until another officer confronted him about the notes.

 

The new guy was called Parrish, and apparently he was extremely confused by the sticky notes left all over the computer and phone for him to find, especially since they said things like 'Sourwolf' and 'Heartbreaker' and 'Does this mean you want to be my Wickham instead of Darcy?'

 

It was after the Darcy one that Parrish confronted him, much to Stiles' embarrassment. Derek and he had been making jokes about Jane Austen before Derek vanished, and for someone else to see his pathetic attempts at flirtation made him want to bury himself in a hole.

 

Officer Parrish was using Derek's desk, he explained, while Officer Hale was out on medical leave. According to Parrish, and then backed up by Stiles' father, Officer Hale had been called to manage a crowd at an apartment fire three days prior but had ended up running in to help save someone when all the firefighters were busy. He had issue with smoke inhalation and a mild burn on his left hand. The sheriff himself had signed off on the medical leave so his hand could properly heal.

 

But since showing up at Derek's house unannounced and without having met before could be classified as stalking, Stiles crossed that off the planning list and knew he'd just have to suffer without Derek for the remainder of his absence.

 

Scott got the worst of it as they were hanging out in his living room and trying to play video games. Scott listened to Stiles pine after a guy who didn't even know what he looked like and worry over his safety, but like the good friend he was Scott never told Stiles to shut up or that he was being stupid. He did, however, suggest Stiles write Derek a full length letter.

 

"Yeah, you know – like in those movies – where you confess everything in a letter and leave it on their doorstep and after they read it, they look up and you're standing across the street," he said, an awed and inspired look on his ridiculous face.

 

Stiles couldn't help returning the expression with one of sassy disbelief.

 

"You're thinking about doing this with Allison, aren't you? To make up for the fight you guys had yesterday about you skipping out on bowling to come hang out with me, right?" he asked.

 

"Yeah." But Scott didn't sound like he was actually listening.

 

Stiles nodded. "Yep. Great. But do me a favor and leave the make-up details at home next time we meet. Cause I don't need to hear about your sex life when mine is at home, nursing a wounded ego and waiting to be discovered after six generations like a wayward Pokemon fairy type. Kay?"

 

"Yeah," Scott said again. Stiles rolled his eyes and used Scott's distracted state to land a headshot kill, and that was the end of that.

 

At first Stiles thought it was a dumb idea, but he still found himself writing letters instead of essays after class. The original letter was a joke, all about how hot Derek looked, both clean shaven and with facial hair, and how Derek should come over to his place to show him how to keep his room clean, complete with full length innuendos.

 

The next ones were more serious – about how he hoped Derek's injury didn't make it hard for him to write or hold a gun or eat or wave at people passing by just because he felt like it and how he hoped the smoke hadn't damaged his lungs and made it hurt to talk, because Derek's voice assuring him he hadn't caused a problem after knocking over all the boxes on the shelf had been surprisingly sweet and he still hadn't heard Derek say his name in that beautiful tone, so Derek really wasn't allowed to lose his voice or lungs to smoke inhalation.

 

In the end, he didn't send Derek a letter, but he did get one on his desk a week after Derek left, signaling Derek's return.

 

It wasn't long or mushy, but it did tell Stiles to stop worrying... and the fact that Derek knew Stiles was worrying made Stiles smirk.

 

'I'm not left-handed, and the burn is healing quickly, so this won't affect my daily life much. I'm surprised I don't have a packet of notes to read. Did your hands fall off? Seems unfair. You never stop writing when I'm here but when I'm gone, you finally decide to take a break. Or maybe not. Parrish says he got a few notes from you. He moved to desk 4, if you plan to keep in touch.'

 

'I downgraded you to Wickham status in your interim. I don't write letters to Wickham. And desk 4 is a long way to walk to leave notes,' Stiles wrote on the back.

 

After that they returned to sticky notes.

 

'How's your hand?' Stiles opened with when it was clear Derek didn't know what to say.

 

'Almost back to normal. Yours?'

 

'Almost human. Can't even tell they were stitched back on. Break any hearts while you were away?'

 

Do you have someone who loves you at home to take care of you? That's what he wanted to ask. They never talked about their love lives. Friends. Family. All was open game, but never girlfriends or boyfriends, and suddenly Stiles felt stupid because of the way his heart raced when he saw a note each morning. Who develops a crush over penmanship? Seriously.

 

'Only the little girl whose life I saved. Wanted to keep me as a pet, I think. You?'

 

'Negative. I am a Sylveon,' Stiles answered, thinking back to his conversation with Scott.

 

Maybe Derek didn't play Pokemon. Maybe he was a purist and only believed in the first gen or so. Maybe he would understand instantly. Stiles wasn't sure which option would be the best. All had potential downfalls.

 

'I don't understand.'

 

The expected response, but Stiles still didn't know if it was the preferred one.

 

'Elusive, beautiful, and stunningly undiscovered.'

 

"Too obvious?" Stiles asked aloud although no one specific was around.

 

"What was that, kiddo?" his dad asked, leaning on the doorframe to his office.

 

Stiles jumped in shock and crumpled his note as though to hide evidence. "What? Nothing. Just... passing time until my ride of the day gets here," he said, trying to find a leisurely appearing position, but failing to do so before his dad took a deep breath and nodded.

 

"Okay. Just don't do anything I'll regret. Please." And the sheriff stepped back into his office, the door closing loudly behind him.

 

Stiles waited a full minute before he groaned and decided to rewrite his ruined note exactly the way it had been. Derek was surprisingly rude the next morning.

 

'Googled it. Pokemon. Fairy type. Keep wings under that uniform, do you?'

 

Stiles wasn't used the sarcastic acid spit on the paper. Was Derek just teasing because of the fairy type? Or had he figured out Stiles' little crush and was trying to insult him? If Derek knew and just didn't want to talk to Stiles anymore, that's all he had to say.

 

'I hope your hand gets gangrene and they have to amputate.' That's what he wrote, but inside he was trying to remember every note he wrote and figure out when Derek would have noticed Stiles' preferences.

 

'Unsurprisingly rude,' Derek wrote back, and Stiles scoffed. He was being rude? Stiles? He felt insulted.

 

'Unsurprisingly?'

 

'Tinkerbell was always rude.'

 

'Fairies are so small they can only contain one emotion at a time. Tinkerbell was jealous. She was perfectly capable of being sweet & playful & fun.'

 

Stiles should really stop replying. His job performance was actually starting to waver. Not that he wasn't as effective as always, just as dependable, but even his Ritalin couldn't stop his mind from wandering to Derek at inopportune moments. He would clench his fists or imagine all the worst ways Derek could reply or all the worst things he could say to Derek. Then he'd hope none of it came to pass, but it was hard to right a misunderstanding, if that's what they were having, when they were only speaking with sticky notes.

 

'You know a lot about fairies.'

 

And also when Derek wasn't even trying not to annoy him. Yes, it did so happen that Stiles had once gone on a two day research binge in high school about fairy lore. And yes if you translated "fairy" as "gay" or "bisexual", he knew a lot about that lore too. Yes he was interested in both, but to have someone teasing him about it was getting to him more than it usually did – and maybe it was because he couldn't confirm if Derek knew about Stiles or was just running with a dumb ass joke.

 

'You know a lot about nothing.'

 

'Maybe you should go back to writing notes to Parrish. He seemed really embarrassed by whatever you wrote to him.'

 

Or... maybe, Stiles considered while Greenburg wrote someone a traffic ticket, Derek was also an elusive fairy type and was jealous of mysterious ghost type, Officer Parrish. Was he? Was he jealous? Had this whole thing been Derek's long, subtle way of discovering Stiles' preferences because he was interested?

 

'I didn't write to him. It was a case of mistaken identity.'

 

'Like Spiderman and Peter Parker – Flash is barely friends with one and wants shrines built to the other?'

 

"Oh man, you're speaking my language and it is hot," Stiles said aloud, not mumbling like he usually did when answering Derek out loud.

 

When someone cleared their throat, he found out that not only was his father overhearing him again, but so was Parrish, who was working a morning shift for a change and had been walking up to him with a set of keys. Parrish looked at the sheriff with concern and took a step back, but the sheriff shook his head. With a look of confused embarrassment, Parrish finished walking to Stiles and asked if he was ready to go on patrol.

 

At this rate, Stiles was sure Parrish would think Stiles was trying to unsubtly seduce him by the end of the week, if not by the end of the day. Why did the new guy always happen to be around when Stiles wrote or said something particularly flirtatious?

 

'No like.... like The Swan Princess (do you have nieces? cause I do), where Prince Derek professes undying love for Odette only it's an old woman under a spell to look like Odette and then Odette dies because of it.'

 

He had to use several notes for that one because not only was the message long, but he rewrote it three times to get over the fact that the princes' name was Derek... because now was not the time for making some kind of joke... and because it gave Stiles funny feelings in his stomach.

 

'Am I the one dying in this scenario?'

 

Stiles groaned, because he'd pretty much just confessed his feelings and somehow Derek bypassed all of the overt signs and went for the dying bit. It was a lost cause.

 

'Call when you want to be upgraded back to Darcy status. Jerk.'

 

'Can't. Don't have your number.'

 

Stiles ended up laying on top of that one, head on his desk and pinning the note down, for a good ten minutes before his dad came out to ask if he was okay. When he sat up, the note was stuck to his forehead instead of the table as it should have been, which was probably good since his dad couldn't read it that way. A few placating assurances later and Stiles was left alone, although given the all-too-familiar concerned look his father always got after Stiles did something particularly odd.

 

Should he give Derek his number? Would sending texts be their new sticky notes? Wouldn't that be better? They could converse faster via phone. But why was the idea of Derek calling him so... anxious butterfly inducing?

 

'My father may disapprove, good sir. Consider my childlike innocence.'

 

He felt so dumb after leaving that note that his Death and Dying class was nigh impossible to concentrate on... except to relate to how he wanted the night to end so he wouldn't have to face Derek's note in the morning.

 

"Dude. What is up with you?" a classmate he barely knew from a hole in the wall, Isaac Lahey, asked when the class broke for a fifteen minute recess.

 

"Dude, since we do you talk to me?" Stiles asked, and it was meant to have bite, but he probably looked as depressed as he sounded sitting in that desk chair.

 

"Since our project last month. Come on, you never look this put out." Isaac knelt by Stiles' chair and put his arms on the desk, his chin resting on top. He looked for all the world like an innocent puppy, but Stiles was familiar with the sass that could radiate from him.

 

With a drawn out sigh, Stiles gave in. He'd never escape Isaac anyway. "Fine. Fine. There's this guy I'm pretty sure I like and everyone in the office can probably tell cause my crush is the size of Saturn, right? And the guy asked me for my number... or at least I think he did... and I totally chickened out and gave him a sarcastic answer instead."

 

"Sooo you're worried you've ruined everything because he's never gonna ask for it again and now giving it to him would seem frivolous and pathetic?" Isaac pressed his lips together afterward, unaffected by Stiles' dropped jaw and incredulous look.

 

"Wha- Why am I talking to you? So you can be as pessimistic as possible? Aren't you supposed to try and give me hopeful advice? Seriously? This- This.... This is just the worst-" Stiles groaned and Isaac put a hand on his shoulder.

 

With a smirk he said, "Don't stress, dude. He'll ask again. I'm sure of it. Just... make it really obvious you like him, cause he's kinda dense. At least... I assume he is."

 

And before Stiles could follow that curious statement, Isaac was walking out of the room to grab a snack. Obvious, Stiles thought. He could do obvious... definitely. Starting tomorrow.

 

'You? Innocent? I've seen drug dealers more innocent.'

 

Harsh, Stiles thought but shook it off. Derek was allowed some bite. That was one of the things Stiles liked about him, after all. He allowed sass but didn't take shit.

 

'There are still a few areas I'm innocent in,' he wrote. Obvious, he reminded himself. 'Ex. Never had a real relationship. Been kissed by strangers. Never had sex.'

 

"Anyone ever tell you you're obsessed with sex?" Scott asked when Stiles relayed the newest development over the phone.

 

Stiles glared at his computer screen, where his latest essay was being constructed. "No. Because you're obsessed with sex. You literally talk about it all the time so that I have very little else to respond to. Do you even realize how much you talk about sex with Allison? Cause it's a lot and it's very distracting. Cause I want sex, Scott. I want sex many times over, in many different positions, but all I get to experience is horror and jealousy while listening to you talk about Allison. Does she know you tell me-"

 

"Okay, okay. Point taken, dude." And at least Scott had the decency to act embarrassed. "So did you call me for any reason besides your love letters?"

 

"Yeah, actually." Stiles leaned forward toward the screen. "I'm writing a paper on death, and I need help describing necrophilia in extreme detail without sounding like I actually-... Scott? You there? Buddy? Scott! Son of a biscuit hung up on me. I-" Stiles slid the phone from his ear into his hand to look at what he already knew was an ended call and cursed.

 

Some best friend. Maybe Stiles should start sending embarrassing photos of Scott to Allison... except she'd probably just find them cute. Damn it.

 

Even without Scott's help, Stiles managed to finish his paper by 3 am, which meant he was tired as hell at work, but at least he'd make the grade. He was so tired, in fact, that he didn't think about Derek's return note or even notice it at first. He was slumped in his chair, debating getting coffee despite disliking the taste, when the bright orange sticky note finally dragged his attention to it.

 

Stiles dove on it like it was straight caffeine.

 

'Sex isn't always what it's cracked up to be. Relationships either. But ours is going well, I think. No kissing aside.'

 

Stiles smacked himself in the face to make sure his sleep deprivation wasn't altering the message but also ended up smacking the note into his face since it was still in his hands.

 

"Ow," he grunted, pulling his hands away and rereading the note. Did Derek get the same advice as Stiles? Be obvious? Because he just called their interactions a relationship and brought up kissing each other... technically. "Obvious," Stiles reminded himself as he grabbed a new note.

 

'Unacceptable. All those issues must be fixed – sex must be awesome. relationship badass. and kissing included.'

 

His heart was racing as he stuck the note in its usual spot, and he almost tore it up twice, but in the end he left it and hoped for the best. In fact, just before leaving work, he added a second note that read:

 

'Scott talks about sex w/ Allison so much that he drives me insane. I'm a ball of pent up sexual frustration w/ no outlet. Someone needs to sex me up. Like now.'

 

'Uncle Peter makes inappropriate comments about teenagers/young women. I've threatened to arrest him for pedophilia but he refuses to quit,' the top note said in the morning. Stiles was almost disappointed in his apparent lack of being obvious until he looked at the note hidden underneath, which read 'I may know someone who can help you release that pent up energy.'

 

Speaking of pent-up energy – Stiles had to grip his kneecap to stifle the amount of energy caused by that simple sentence. He bit his lip and closed his eyes until his brain could think of something besides Derek Hale's smooth voice in his ear offering to help him 'release'.

 

'Think so? Cause last time some1 flirted w/ me, I ruined it w/ a bad joke. Real disappointed about it.'

 

'I think ruined is a bit harsh. You're fine. Besides, one bad joke = nothing compared to your oh-so-stunning personality. The, and I quote Off. Coulby, 'cute' moles help a bit too, I'm sure.'

 

Stiles cast his eyes around the bullpen after reading the note. Had Derek actually seen him, done like Stiles and shown up just to catch a glimpse of his note buddy, or was he taking Officer Coulby's word for it when it came to Stiles' appearance? Surely Stiles would have noticed Derek Hale coming in early or meandering about the office off-duty.

 

Wait. More important – did Derek just say Stiles hadn't ruined his chances with Derek after the phone number debacle? Well... obviously not since Derek was responding to the flirty messages, but this straight up said it. Um, in a... very not straight-up kind of way.

 

'You think I'm cute?' Stiles wrote and decided that was enough.

 

Isaac waved at him in class that night and even threw him a wink, but they didn't talk the entire class, not even during the recess. It wasn't until they were packing up that Isaac came close enough to speak to.

 

"Hey," Stiles greeted, unsure what kind of conversation he could have with Isaac since they didn't know each other.

 

"Hey," Isaac answered, slowly walking to the door so Stiles could catch up with him. "Any luck being more obvious?"

 

"I think so. I've always been better at roundabout sass than straight talking, but I'm pretty sure I've got a better handle on it now," Stiles said, adjusting his backpack.

 

Isaac scoffed. "I think you're still rusty. Remember notes don't have tones, so you've gotta be specific." He stepped up to the curb outside where a car waited for him, a hot blonde in the front seat. She was chewing gum and smirked when she spotted Stiles.

 

"Notes? Hey, hang on. How'd you know about the notes?" Stiles asked, stepping closer as Isaac slipped into his seat and closed the door, window down.

 

Isaac smirked too and it looked just like his driver's despite them not being related... as far as Stiles knew. It was creepy though.

 

"He's right, you know?" Isaac commented to his companion, then he looked up at Stiles and said, "Those moles _are_ kinda cute."

 

And as though they had planned for the dramatic exit, the girl stepped on the gas and drove away, leaving Stiles gaping on the sidewalk. Isaac knew Derek? Isaac-

 

Stiles smacked himself in the face. One of Derek's few friends was named Isaac! How was Stiles supposed to know- There were so many Isaacs in- He groaned. If Derek knew about Isaac being in class with Stiles, he was either using him to spy on Stiles or greatly under-using him as a spy. If Derek didn't know... well that was curious too, because Isaac seemed interested in their relationship recently.

 

Maybe... wait, so if Isaac was encouraging Stiles to flirt obviously with Derek then that meant Derek, whether he knew about Isaac or not, was interested in Stiles. So Stiles definitely had a chance, he just had to take it! Filled with a new sense of hopefulness, Stiles almost bounced up to the desk the next day only to have his dreams crushed like a wild flower under a thoughtless shoe.

 

No note.

 

Was he out again? But no, the desk was organized in a very Derek way. He'd been here, so why no note? Stiles had asked a straightforward, obvious question. That's what Isaac said to do and now Derek wasn't going to answer it?

 

He spent the majority of that shift petulantly angry, to the great dismay of one drunk driver they took in and a jaywalker who got a ten minute lecture instead of a fine because who in the hell gives a ticket for jay walking in Beacon Hills? Greenburg was shocked Stiles even chased the guy down to give him the lecture, but that's the kind of mood Stiles was in.

 

But after the lecture, Stiles found he'd vented most of his irritation and could only find a mild amount left for Derek. Embarrassment was a thing, he reminded himself. So before he left work, he left another note.

 

'I think ur hot. Way 2 sexy to be out & about on your own. Some1's gonna kidnap you 1 day. I'd like to be that some1.'

 

Literally Stiles could not be more obvious than that. Derek had to get the picture from that, and if he still refused to answer, well then Stiles had his answer.

 

"Stiles," his father called to him before he left and waved him into his office. When the door was shut and locked, he said, "I know you have to get changed and get to school, but I need to talk to you."

 

"Alright. Shoot."

 

The sheriff rubbed his brow, hand on his hip. "It's just that I've noticed a lot of the other officers and deputies gabbing, and it seems like they're taking bets on you and Officer Hale."

 

"Bets? On what? What do you mean betting? Like they think we hate each other or something?" Stiles asked, perching on the arm of a chair.

 

His father shook his head and sighed. "Actually the exact opposite. They're taking bets on when you'll start dating." Stiles froze, curiosity and a pair of pursed lips stuck in place. "Now all I wanna know is when you were planning on telling me. I don't mind who you date, Stiles, you know that, so long as you're careful. But to hear it from the deputies before my own son?"

 

"Dad- Dad, calm down," Stiles said, waving his hands around. The Sheriff wasn't particularly animated about the issue, but Stiles was. "Nothing's happened."

 

"But you want something to," his dad clarified.

 

"What? Well yeah. I mean have you seen the guy? He's- Look, that's not important and you don't care anyway. The point is, if anything ever happened between us, you'd be the first.... no... the second person to know. Scott would probably know before you." At his father's skeptical look, Stiles added, "Not because I don't love you, Dad. Scott just has a way of... of knowing this sort of thing. Not for me but for others, of course. I've never-"

 

"I got it." The sheriff held up one hand to stop the rant. "And if anything does.... happen. Just be careful, alright? And this isn't just cause I'm your dad and I want you to be happy and safe. This is also coming from your boss. I don't want people saying things behind your backs or having this negatively impact your relationships with the rest of the force. I'll do my best to make sure they know there's no favoritism, but you two do your part too, alright?"

 

"Right, Dad. No problems." Stiles pressed his lips together and clapped his hands. "So.... can I go to class now?"

 

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. Sorry. Go ahead. I'll see you later." The sheriff opened the door and pat Stiles on the back as his son walked past him. Stiles returned it with a pat on his father's shoulder and then walked backwards to give him a reassuring smile.

 

He kicked a trashcan and almost tripped, but for some reason the exasperated look on his father's face was worth it, because everything was normal between them and always would be. Stiles didn't even think to look for Derek on the way out until he was at the door, and by then most of the bullpen was blocked from view. He debated walking back to check, but decided that would be too awkward and just continued out the door instead.

 

Class that night wasn't one with Isaac, which was kind of a letdown now that Stiles knew Isaac knew Derek, but it had Lydia in it... and even if she pretty much pretended she was the center of the galaxy during class, she still deigned to throw him a few knowing or annoyed glances during the lecture, all while taking notes. She could multitask. The only conversation they had was talking about maybe studying together for the upcoming final. While at school, they never discussed anything else. It was only when they were around Scott and Allison or others that they really conversed. College could be funny like that.

 

When he pulled on his uniform the next morning, he didn't really expect it to be all that different than any other day, but he'd been wrong before. He drove to work and walked into the bullpen, ready to see who he'd be on patrol with, and found the newest note from Derek – which, okay, had him really happy because Derek had actually responded.

 

'Coffee?' it read. 'I'm off Saturday. You don't have class, right?'

 

Stiles half threw himself through his father's office door, disrupting a probably important phone call. The sheriff uttered a quick apology to whoever was on the other end and then covered the receiver to ask what Stiles needed.

 

"Something's happening," Stiles announced. "Just- you know- thought you outta know."

 

And then he pulled the door shut behind him, blinds rattling against glass. Greenburg was heading toward Stiles' desk, so Stiles quickly sat down to scribble out his response.

 

'Saturday it is. 1 oclock? You pick the place.' And he scribbled his phone number down underneath the note with a winking face that proclaimed 'Call me' in a speech bubble.

 

Two days of boring normal life and then he'd be out on an actual swear-to-God date with Derek Hale. Coffee with Derek Hale. Stiles was working toward a degree with just a month left to go but this one coffee date felt more like culmination of his last three months than all that studying he did and all the papers he wrote.

 

"Let's go, Greenburg," he said cheerfully and headed for the door.

 

Like every other day, they drove around watching traffic and keeping an eye on the sidewalks and an ear on the radio. Nothing fantastic or even mildly interesting was happening on the radio or on the streets, and Stiles mentioned out loud how bored he was – which Greenburg denied responding to.

 

On the way back to the station, Greenburg pulled into a gas station to refuel, and Stiles decided he'd refuel too. Greenburg could do the cruiser and Stiles could do himself. Feed himself. Not do himself. Not that kind of do. Not in public anyway.

 

The gas station was quiet and made him feel awkward, like a lot of gas stations did, but he ignored the feeling in lieu of heading for the Mountain Dew and beef jerky. He wondered if Derek got uncomfortable in gas stations or if Derek liked beef jerky. Probably. He seemed like a jerky kind of guy. Well hopefully he like teriyaki, cause Stiles adored that shit.

 

He was actually about to open the bag and start chowing down on the way to the register when one of the other patrons started wildly pointing and whispering loudly to his friend. The cruiser was clearly visible through the door and the two guys seemed to greatly dislike that.

 

Shit. Stiles put the jerky down and put a hand on his hip where his gun was. Hopefully he wouldn't need it, but there was definitely something sketchy going on.

 

"Hey guys," he greeted in a friendly manner and both men jumped. The more nervous one whipped out his gun and aimed it first at Stiles then the cashier and then back.

 

"Nobody move!" he shouted. A woman by the lottery stand gasped and moved to the opposite side of the stand as though the waist high thing would save her from a bullet. "You! Cop! Put your gun on the ground!"

 

"Fellas," Stiles tried again and the gun waved at him.

 

"On the ground, now! And kick it away!" the leader demanded.

 

Slowly, very slowly, Stiles did as commanded and kicked his gun away from himself and the men. If he couldn't have it, neither could they. And then, for some dumbass reason, Stiles thought of Derek. Not about him coming to save the day or wondering what he'd do in this situation. No. Just Derek. And he felt calmer.

 

"Now no funny business, Cop, or I shoot. Understand?" The gun was shaky in the man's hand, his finger hovering over the trigger.

 

"Crystal clear. No worries," Stiles assured and put his hands up as an added bonus.

 

The second man put a bag on the counter. "All the money you got," he grunted. "Cash register. Safety box. Your shoe, man. I don't care."

 

Just as the cashier was starting to load, the door chimed and a new piece entered the game – Greenburg. He stopped, stunned, when he saw the scene and instantly pulled his own gun.

 

"Drop your weapons," he ordered in a surprisingly calm voice. "Drop them now."

 

The first guy turned his gun on Greenburg instead of Stiles, and maybe it was a dumb idea, but Stiles took that chance to rush the guy. The gun flailed back to aim at Stiles and a shot went off before Stiles managed to snap the guy's wrist and flick the gun out of his grip. The guy hit his knees at the same time as Stiles hit his own. The assailant was whining about his wrist, where Stiles still held it in a pressure point crushing grip. Stiles had forgotten entirely about his hand and was looking, instead, at his torso.

 

"Greenburg," he grunted. The other officer was pinning the second assailant to the counter and putting cuffs on him. "G... Greenburg!" Stiles shouted and drew everyone's attention. "I think I- I gotta-Coffee on Saturday." And his words were jumbled and he was starting to lose focus and he didn't know why because he'd taken his Ritalin that morning.

 

When he hit the ground, the jolt reminded him why he was so scatterbrained all of a sudden. When he'd grabbed for the gun, the robber had pulled back, trying to free himself, and had also pulled the trigger. That explained the pain and tingling feeling in Stiles' side.

 

He'd been shot.

 

"Officer down," he heard Greenburg's voice call out, but it sounded like his mouth was full of cotton. Or Stiles' ears were.

 

"I gotta-," Stiles grunted, blinking at the ceiling and unable to make it stop looking foggy. He winced, his face contorting. "Something's... uhn, something's happening."

 

"Yeah, you've been shot," a female voice said and Stiles recognized the woman from the corner. She was pressing something against the wound.

 

He didn't remember her coming over to him and he didn't notice her leave, but somehow he ended up in an ambulance, and hell he'd always imagined being shot would be way cooler than this. But this was stupid. The shock took all the fun out of it – making time weird and his memory even worse than usual. He cursed a lot in the ambulance until they got a steady stream of drugs in him.

 

At the hospital he was put into emergency care and then had a machine put on his face and then Stiles wasn't in pain anymore. He didn't know what or where he was, but he wasn't in pain and that was better.

 

He assumed they had put him under for surgery or to take away the stress. In his dream, he saw Derek out of uniform. He looked worried, and it wasn't a look Stiles liked on him. Stiles called out to him but couldn't hear his own voice. Derek heard it though, because he turned and smiled at Stiles. Any words coming from Derek were lost as well, but Derek was standing really close and seemed genuine and caring, and all of that made Stiles feel warm inside until the dream ended much too soon.

 

When the grogginess finally pulled away and Stiles could recognize the world around him, he groaned in pain. He was in a hospital bed, chest exposed and bandages covering his right side. Night stared back at him through the window, and everything was very quiet. Part of him wished he'd slept until visiting hours, because what's the point of waking up when no one's around to notice, but then he saw his father asleep in the chair.

 

"Dad," he croaked and then groaned at the roughness of his throat. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Dad." It didn't sound any better, just louder, but it roused his father and that's all that mattered.

 

"You're awake." Obviously. The sheriff was up in an instant and offering Stiles some water, which was gladly accepted. "How you feelin?"

 

"Peachy." Stiles cleared his throat again and was given more water. "You know... like.. puffy and fuzzy. Like a peach."

 

"Good to see you haven't lost your sense of humor. Do you remember what happened?" His dad pushed Stiles' hair back from his face even though it fell right back into place. He looked tired. Stiles realized his dad should be home sleeping while not on shift, not stressing in a hospital.

 

"Sorry," he said first. "I'm stressin you out."

 

"Nah, don't even worry about it. Just focus on feeling better."

 

"I don't... After Greenburg walked in, I don't remember much. The shock probably. Sucks, really, cause I'd like to have memories of being like, I don't know, badass after being shot – like kicking someone in the face or something, but I probably just passed out," Stiles complained.

 

The laugh that came from his dad was unexpected, and Stiles stared at him with alarm, thinking the stress had finally gotten to him. "Sorry. No, it's just that- well you broke one of the perp's wrist. Greenburg's report said you got shot while disarming him, and then apparently your grip on his wrist only got tighter the more into shock you went. We had to get him bandaged up as well as you, so technically you did kick some ass post-shooting... even if you don't remember it."

 

 "Awesome. Is that on surveillance footage?" Stiles asked, genuinely curious.

 

The idea seemed to make the sheriff even more pleased and he pat Stiles on the shoulder in lieu of hugging him. He told Stiles about the wound, the blood loss and the fact that the bullet had barely avoided his kidney, and that he'd have to stay in the hospital for another two days while they monitored his wound for internal bleeding or other complications.

 

It was a serious conversation, surpassed in severity only by the discussion they'd had after Stiles' mom had passed away. In general they tried to be very calm or happy around each other, but sometimes things were just... not calm or happy.

 

The sheriff stayed all night and didn't leave until almost noon the following day. Stiles slept through most of the visit, which turned out to be a good thing because shortly after his father's exit, other officers came to wish him well.

 

Stiles knew most of the officers by first name from before he became a cop – Ryan and Duke and Lindsy and Carol to name a few. They all stopped by to say hello before or after their shifts and told him how much they missed him already. Stiles hadn't had time to miss them – he'd been asleep for most of the ordeal, but he was glad for the words anyway. Most of the precinct was like his second family.

 

Greenburg came by around five and did more apologizing than greeting. He felt responsible for what happened and even Stiles pointing out that no one made Stiles rush a nervous guy with a gun didn't convince him otherwise. His was the most exhausting visit.

 

In the evening, Scott and Allison dropped by and gave him a large stuffed bear with a balloon that said 'Happy Birthday'. "Because they were out of Get Well Soon balloons," Scott explained, but Stiles was pretty sure he'd gotten the wrong one on purpose. The situation was funnier if it was intended. Allison gave him a kiss on the forehead before they left.

 

His dad stopped by right at the end of visiting hour to give him some of his favorite kind of yogurt, hospital approved, and promised to visit the next day. Then Stiles was alone.

 

Exhaustion hit him like a brick. The steady stream of guests had worn him out, but he couldn't just kick out people who cared about him and whom he loved. Speaking of – Stiles touched where Allison had kissed him and wondered if Derek would stop by. Everyone else had, even Parrish, but not Derek. According to his dad, everyone at the station had known about the incident within an hour of it happening, so there was no way Derek didn't know about the robbery or Stiles being in the hospital or which room was his.

 

Closing his eyes, Stiles thought back to his dream of Derek. It had been so real, and Stiles was very proud of his imagination for knowing how Derek's eyes would crinkle with a mixture of worry and relief. And those eyes. Those eyes. That smile.

 

A soft squeaking from the visitor chair woke Stiles from a sleep he hadn't even noticed. It was morning again, but while he felt rested despite not realizing he'd fallen asleep, he still hoped the noise  wasn't his father coming back. He opened his eyes and blinked rapidly to clear away the sleep, but no matter how much he blinked, the person sitting by him did not become his father.

 

"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you," Derek said, voice calm and level, and Stiles just kept blinking because Derek Hale couldn't possibly be sitting in his hospital room at barely-visiting-hours in the morning. "Stiles?"

 

And he must have looked quite a sight, laying there with his head turned to look at his visitor, eyes blinking more than necessary and brow narrowed in confusion and curiosity. It wasn't really like Stiles not to speak, but he blamed the shock.

 

"Are you awake or drugged up like last time?" Derek asked, crossing his legs. "Because your father said they took you off the morphine, but you seem out of it. You okay?"

 

"Last... Last time?" Stiles asked slowly, but then his eyes flew open and he gasped loudly. "Wait, you mean it wasn't a dream?! Holy shit, like you actually came to see me before everyone else?"

 

Derek seemed to shrink slightly, his lips thinning out and his eyes darting to the side. "Well we had a date," he offered as an excuse and shrugged.

 

Stiles bit his lip to try and keep from grinning like an idiot, but it didn't work. He held his hand out for Derek to take and then held in any inappropriate or sarcastic comments after Derek's warm hand slipped into his.

 

"Wow, dude. I didn't realize you were such a romantic," he said and chuckled. "But hang on – this means the first time you saw me, I was drugged up and looked like shit."

 

Now Derek laughed and squeezed his hand. "No." He shook his head. "I saw you coming out of your dad's office the other day... and sometimes I come to work early and spot you as you leave. Not to mention the day you knocked over the shelf. You're kind of a klutz, huh?"

 

"Y-Yeah. Guess notes can't reveal everything. Now that we're talking in person, you're gonna discover all my flaws," Stiles warned.

 

Derek interlocked their fingers. "And you'll discover all of mine." They stared at each other, neither breathing deeply, and Stiles tried to soak up the words. They sounded really important, but maybe that was just his imagination. Derek shrugged after a moment. "That's how relationships work. But since this is your first one, I won't hold the lack of knowledge against you."

 

"Oh thanks," Stiles replied sarcastically.

 

"But I will hold this gunshot wound against you." Derek shook his head as Stiles made an indignant noise. "Shot at a small gas station robbery? Really, Stiles? Come on now."

 

"Hey! I broke a guy's wrist! I disarmed an assailant!" Stiles exclaimed in self-defense.

 

Derek seemed annoyingly unimpressed. "You were shot by a first time offender in the candy aisle. No wonder they let you change your name to Stiles on your badge. At this rate you'll never make deputy. Family shame."

 

"You know what? You talk way too much for a guy whose usual note was five words or less." And Stiles turned his face away petulantly, but neither he nor Derek missed the fact that he didn't pull their hands apart.

 

A slightly odd silence followed – odd because Stiles expected Derek to laugh or say something, but neither happened. Besides Derek's hand in his, Derek might have left the room for how quiet he was. After a few minutes passed, Derek moved and got up from the chair to loom over Stiles.

 

"Stiles," he said, and it was in that stupidly sexy voice, the calm and happy tone from when he'd assured a bumbling civilian that he hadn't ruined everything by knocking things off a shelf.

 

It made Stiles' stomach knot pleasantly and drew his face back to look at Derek. Those jade eyes were on him, pinning him to the bed more than any wound, and then they were coming closer. Stiles didn't even think about how to react – his eyes slipped shut automatically as Derek got too close to see, and he raised his chin slightly to meet Derek's lips part way. And oh my God, they were kissing.

 

"And kissing included," Derek muttered as he pulled away, the air from his words hot on Stiles' skin.

 

"And kissing-," Stiles paused and then started to laugh. Derek looked affronted, but Stiles quickly took Derek's hand in both of his own so the older male couldn't pull away and said, "No. No, it wasn't the kiss. You're fantastic. It's just... Oh my God, you're always such a sourpuss in notes, but really you're a sweetheart, aren't you?"

 

The glower on Derek's face fit just as well as a smile. "I-"

 

"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. You have a reputation to uphold. Family shame and all that." Stiles giggled again but stopped prematurely as the tugging on his side finally became too painful. He winced and then sighed out contentedly. "Besides, I kind of like being one of the few to know."

 

The morning had just begun, but Stiles was feeling drowsy already – whether from the laughing or the shock or just the general excitement. He squinted his whole face when the feeling hit him, trying to fight it off, but he knew it was pointless.

 

Derek put a hand on Stiles' head and took a slow, deep breath. "Go to sleep, Stiles."

 

"Bring me coffee when I wake up?" Stiles asked. "Since we missed our date?"

 

A moment passed where Derek was either pretending to consider if he wanted to or mentally checking his schedule. Finally he said, "Alright. But only cause you slept through our date... and only if the nurses say you can have it."

 

"Sourpuss."

 

"Sleep, Stiles."

 

And it was only too easy to obey. He was still recovering. When he woke up, Derek and his father were both there, talking about some case or another and then about Stiles. Stiles kept silent so they wouldn't know he was awake and he could eavesdrop. The sheriff was laying out the ground rules for dating his son, and wow that was touching and cute. Derek took it all very well and only argued when one of the rules was 'No meeting after midnight.' It made sense, Derek agreed, since Stiles worked so early, but he also pointed out that if Stiles wanted to do something, a solid brick wall wouldn't stop him. He was right.

 

There actually was coffee for him when he let them know he was conscious, and even though it was a small cup, the caffeine helped get him through his next string of visitors after Derek and his dad left to go to work. It didn't last forever, though, and Stiles took a nap in the late afternoon. When he woke up to be given dinner, he noticed a note was left for him on the railing of the bed.

 

'Dinner next Friday?' it read. Underneath, in smaller lettering, it added 'Don't get shot again or I'll think it's on purpose.'

 

Stiles was laughing too much to eat at first, and his nurse was very concerned, but he assured her he was fine, and wrote a note for Derek in case he was asleep during the next visit – 'So long as you're okay with me possibly sleeping in the middle of it,' he said.

 

'I'll manage. And we'll have it at your place just in case,' Derek answered. And after that the hospital stay was much more pleasant... because even if he missed Derek stopping by before or after work, they still had passive aggressive sticky notes.


End file.
